


In the Lap of Luxury

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, College Student Prompto, First Time, M/M, Nervousness, Office Blow Jobs, Possessive Behavior, Rich Older Gladio, Socially Awkward Flirting, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompto's life is going smoothly, all things considered. He's studying photography at school by day, and rubbing shoulders with Insomnia's elite by night. Not too bad for a bright-eyed twenty-year-old in the big city.But everything changes one night when a new face arrives at the bar, and offers Prompto things he's only ever imagined in his wildest dreams: riches, power,luxury.Certainly, there's something Mr. Amicitia expects in return....(Something of a prequel to the one-shotThey Had to be Sapphires)





	1. Coeurl Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This project was actually started months ago over on Tumblr. I wrote almost 20 pages in about four days, then decided I hated it and nearly trashed the whole darn thing. Stumbled across it again recently and thought, eh, what the heck, it'll work for Twinks and Daddies weekend. And. So. Here we are. I still don't know how I feel about it, but if you like it and want more, please leave some feedback in the comments or over at [Tumblr](http://lhugbereth.tumblr.com/). Suggestions always welcome *thumbs up*

Finding work at the bar had been Prompto’s lucky break.

Not that he realized that in the beginning, of course. He, like most of the other students in his graduate program, had simply needed a part-time job. Something that paid enough to cover his rent and textbooks, and still allowed him to work nights around his class schedule. Honestly, a dive bar seemed like the perfect solution. And despite having zero experience  _ behind _ a counter, he figured he knew his way well enough around a bottle of booze to fake it. So he’d talked to his professor, who talked to a guy, who talked to another guy, who eventually landed him a meeting with Mr. Weskham Armaugh, manager and proprietor of the  _ Maagho Lounge. _

At first, Prompto wasn’t sure he looked the part. The  _ Maagho  _ was the exact opposite of the seedy, run-down joint he’d imagined for his first part-time job. Located in the heart of downtown Insomnia, it catered to the suits of the business district, the men and women through whose pockets money flowed in and out of the city. The lounge itself was as exuberant and rich as the patrons it served, and Prompto - a chronically broke art student from a dysfunctional home - had felt out of place since his first night on the job. Still, it paid well, and Weskham (who insisted on being called by his first name) never complained about the blond’s untameable yellow hair, his shy smile, or the multitude of piercings lining his ears like a hardware store. 

After about two months, Prompto could finally say he was getting the hang of the job. He learned quickly, and had already memorized the recipes for nearly a hundred different cocktails. The customers, too, seemed to love him. They called his bright laugh “refreshing,” talked easily and openly with him, and on the nights he worked the bar sold more drinks than usual. Without realizing it, Prompto had begun to gain a reputation.

Perhaps that’s what had drawn  _ him _ that night. It was a Friday, and the  _ Maagho  _ was crowded as usual with patrons blowing off steam at the end of a long week. Prompto and the other bartender that night, a busty blonde from Leide named Cindy, were busy serving drink after drink after drink - so busy, in fact, that Prom had barely noticed the pair of unusual eyes watching him steadily from the end of the bar. 

The man had yet to order anything. Prompto was vaguely aware that he’d been occupying a seat at the crowded bar for nearly ten minutes, something which Weskham generally discouraged for anyone but paying customers, and had half a mind to ask him to leave. But at second glance, he noticed the broad shoulders, the thick neck, the beard cutting along a razor sharp jaw, and decided it was best to leave the job to their bouncer, Dave. He’d nearly forgotten about the man entirely when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large hand raise off the counter to signal him over. 

Prompto frowned. Next to him, Cindy was distracted building an impressive tower of shot glasses, and seemed not to have noticed the man at all. Looked like it was all up to him. Putting on his best smile, he made his way down the bar to deal with what he expected to be a real pain in the ass.

“Yes, sir,” he greeted politely. “What can I get for you this evening?”

Closer now, he could make out the way those amber eyes followed his every move. "Ceourl Heart," came the answer in a voice that matched the rough scar running over his left eye. "Stirred, no ice."

A… _ what?  _ Prompto groaned internally. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm kinda new here, I don't think I’ve ever heard of that one."

"It's not on the menu." Another groan behind his apologetic smile as the man’s face stretched in a smirk. He considered calling Cindy over - she had a real knack for putting these types in their place - but that deep voice stopped him before he could even turn around. "Bring your best scotch and a bottle of champagne. I'll teach you how to make it."

_ Are you kidding me?!  _ Blue eyes widened under the dim lights of the bar.  _ Who does this asshole think he is?  _

“I, uh. I’ll just...be right back with that, sir.” 

He found Cindy near the glasses cabinet. She had her hands full with several drink orders of her own, but that didn’t stop him from clutching the edge of her apron and begging for her help under his breath. 

“A  _ what  _ heart?” she repeated, turning her head to regard him quizzically. “Ain’t never heard of it. Why?”

Prompto’s gaze flicked to the end of the bar and he scoffed. “ _ That guy _ ordered one. Said he’d ‘teach me’ how to make it.  _ Weird,  _ amirite?” While he was ducking down to grab a glass, he missed the way Cindy suddenly went pale. “Like, who gave him the right to - “

“Prom.” Cindy cut him off, her voice serious. “Y’ _ really _ don’t know who that is?”

Slowly, curiously, he shook his head. 

“That’s Gladiolus Amicitia. Son of  _ Clarus _ Amicitia,” she added when Prompto failed to catch on. At the second name, however, he outright balked. 

_ Clarus Amicitia?!  _ The millionaire philanthropist who developed the defense technology for the wall around the city? The founder of Shield Institute and rumored childhood pal of President Caelum himself? Who was so rich and famous that he had a  _ private room _ permanently reserved upstairs at the  _ Maagho _ ? 

_ His son _ was at  _ his bar _ ordering a drink -  _ from him?! _

“Best not t’keep Mr. Amicitia waitin’,” Cindy said quickly, hustling a very speechless Prompto to his feet again. 

 

* * *

 

The rim of the bottle trembled against the glass. Slowly, carefully, he struggled to focus on pouring with those watchful amber eyes on him. Struggled to follow instructions  _ exactly _ as Mr. Amicitia gave them. But his nerves, as usual, threatened to betray. He was certain that at any moment the bottle of top-shelf scotch was going to go flying out of his shaking hands, spill all over the man’s expensive suit, and cost him not only his job but the entirety of his future in Insomnia as well. 

On the verge of panic, Prompto decided to bolt, to call Cindy over and tap out for the night because there was no way he could --

A hand on his wrist stilled him to the core. 

“How old are you?” Mr. Amicitia asked casually, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they guided Prompto’s hands up to set the bottle back on the counter. It took the blond several more heartbeats still to find his voice. 

“I’m t-twenty.”

The man seemed pleased. “Barely old enough to drink, much less work in a place like this, don’t you think?”

In the back of his mind, Prompto knew he should probably be offended, maybe even a little creeped out by the familiarity with which Mr. Amicitia spoke to him. But those eyes…. Already he was finding it hard to resist them. “I, um. Go to the university. My professor helped me get this job, and Wesk-  _ Mr. Armaugh _ is really nice.” 

“Yeah, I know. He’s an old friend of my father’s, actually.” He paused while Prompto popped the cork on the bottle of champagne (mostly to hide the sound of his own audible gulp). “So, what do you study?”

Prompto glanced up anxiously from his work. “Hm?

“At the university. What program are you in?”

“Oh.” Cheeks flushing, he finished filling the glass with bubbling champagne before answering in a quiet voice, “Photography.”

It wasn’t that he’d been hoping for any particular response, of course, but he had at least expected some kind of reaction. A polite  _ oh-I-see  _ or  _ isn’t-that-nice _ , or even a disinterested shrug. But Mr. Amicitia merely continued to smile at him, his eyes like fire as they flickered over his face, his freckles, his neck. Prompto could practically feel the gaze burning into him, and it made his palms itch with nerves. 

And then: “Do you think you could make another one of those on your own?” Mr. Amicitia asked, gesturing to the Ceourl Heart between them on the counter. “I’m going upstairs to my booth.” 

“W-what about your drink, s-sir?” Prompto stuttered.

Something warm - and unfamiliar - passed over the man’s face. “Well. I was hoping you’d be kind enough to deliver both of them in person. I promise Weskham won’t mind,” he added when Prompto cast a look at the crowded bar. “What do you say?”

What _ could  _ he say? He turned again to face Mr. Amicitia - took in the sight of his broad shoulders, his fine suit, his full lips stretched into a smile beneath those hungry eyes - and swallowed hard. This was a man who was not used to being refused. “Yes, sir. Right away.” 

That wide smile darkened. “Perfect.”

Prompto stared after him for a moment, watching in awe at the way the crowd parted before him as he moved towards the staircase. Exhaustion followed, hit him like a tidal wave in the man’s wake, and he was grateful for Cindy’s sudden presence at his side to keep him grounded. 

“You okay, Prom? What’d he say?” 

The voice that spoke sounded distant. “He asked me to take his drinks upstairs.”

“Alone?”

“Y-yeah.” 

Cindy fell silent, letting the noise of the bar fill in the space around them even as her fingers clutched tight around his upper arm. When she finally spoke again, her words were just for him. “Be careful.”

“W-what? Why?”  

“Because yer _ cute _ , Prompto,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “And rumor is, cute is Mr. Amicitia’s type.” 

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, Prompto had never actually been into the upstairs booths while the  _ Maagho _ was open. He’d cleaned, of course, and straightened up the cushions of the sofas after hours, but this was his first time being called on personally to deliver drinks to a VIP customer. And, if possible, he was feeling even more nervous that he had been at the bar. 

Balancing the tray with twin cocktails in one hand, he sucked in a deep breath before giving the door of Mr. Amicitia’s room a firm knock with the other. The man’s low voice on the other side bade him enter, and he pushed his way inside before he could lose his nerve completely. 

“I’ve brought your drinks, sir. Would you like anything else with these?”

“Company would be nice.” Mr. Amicitia smiled as he got to his feet, helping Prompto set the tray down on the center table. “That second drink was meant for you, after all. My treat.” 

He shivered. If what Cindy had heard about the man was right, then…? “O-oh, no, sir. I couldn’t possibly accept -- “

“Please. I’d like to hear about your photography.”

Suspicion toyed with reluctant hope in his mind. “Really?”

“Shield’s honor.” Mr. Amicitia grinned wide enough to flash a mouthful of sharp, white teeth, and signed a cross over his left breast. “Or may Ramuh strike me down.” 

And he was, in  _ almost _ every sense, true to his word. Prompto sat next to him on the sofa, sipping the sweet-and-sour cocktail while he chatted about his work. About how he’d picked up photography as a hobby in grade school, and how it had gotten him through a lot of rough patches in his life. About how he’d already debuted in a couple of local exhibitions back in the Gralea district, and how he hoped to be in a real gallery someday. That’s why he’d moved uptown, he explained. It was the only place he had any chance of catching a break.

All the while Prom talked, Mr. Amicitia listened with apparently genuine interest. He smiled and nodded and asked questions, prodded Prompto to show him the shots he had taken on his phone. And by the time they were both scanning excitedly through the photos, Prompto didn’t even mind the warm arm that slipped so naturally around him. 

Nearly an hour passed before Prompto realized with a start that he needed to get back to the bar. He offered Mr. Amicitia a sincere apology, and thanked him for his time. Maybe, he thought to himself, Cindy had been wrong about things after all. 

That very next day, Prompto was approached out of the blue by an agent from one of the most highly regarded art galleries in the city. 


	2. Need a Ride?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Amicitia pays Prompto a second visit. And this time, he's got a generous offer if the blond is willing to accept it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Noct! Bye, Noct! He'll come back later :)   
> In this chapter, Gladio proves that sex appeal has nothing to do with social skills. He's a tad bit...out of touch with the common folk. Luckily for him, Prompto's about to bring him down to his level real fast :)

“Really, dude? That’s awesome! How the hell did you get picked up so fast?” 

Stretching out on his bed, Prompto had to fight to keep the groan out of his voice. “Um. Well, I’m not, like, a hundred percent sure or anything....”

“Dude.  _ Tell me _ .”

“Okay, so. It may have been this guy I was talking to at work.”

On the other end of the line, Noctis went silent. Just as Prompto had feared he would, of course. There would be the inevitable tension, the awkward  _ is-that-so _ , and then he would have to scramble to dig himself out of  _ that _ hole. Might as well beat Noct to the chase. “Look, it’s not what you’re thinking,” he began, to the resounded response of  _ Uh-huh, sure. _ “Really, we just talked. I showed him some of my photos, and the next day,  _ boom _ . I got an offer.”

“Okay. Say I believe you,” Noct said, and Prompto could hear the incredulity dripping from the smirk in his voice. “What makes you think some guy at the bar would have those kinds of connections?”

Again, Prompto hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Noct, his bestest best friend in the whole world who already knew everything about his life anyway. It was simply that. Well. His encounter with Mr. Amicitia had, in some way, felt incredibly private. He was practically a celebrity, and Prompto was well aware that even the smallest of rumors could mean big news where his family - and his family’s company - was concerned. 

Still, Noct was waiting for an answer, and Prom had never really been good at lying, anyway. 

“You gotta promise not to tell anyone, but….”

 

* * *

 

Nearly a week passed and Prompto had yet to make a decision regarding the gallery’s offer. He knew, of course, that it was the chance of a lifetime. His classmates - even his professors - would have jumped at the chance to launch their careers at such a ripe, young age. The problem was, he couldn’t believe he actually deserved it. Just because the son of a millionaire seemed fond of his work, it didn’t mean anyone else in the field would like it. At best, he was an amateur - a real live gallery exhibition still felt like a far-off dream. 

But his own misgivings aside, Prompto had also spent the week hoping for a chance to see Mr. Amicitia again. On one hand, sure, he wanted to thank him for his help and explain why he was considering turning the offer down before he made his choice. But on the other hand, the one he was less ready to admit, he had simply enjoyed spending time with the man. He’s  _ liked _ the way Mr. Amicitia had looked at him, the way he’d asked questions about his life, his hobbies. He’d liked the attention. It was as if for the short time they’d been together, Prompto had been  _ worth something _ in the eyes of a powerful man. And that alone was enough to have him casting his gaze toward the end of the bar every so often - hoping, expecting. 

So on the next Friday night, when Prom glanced down the length of the counter again and was rewarded with the sight he’d been waiting for, his heart nearly leapt into his throat with excitement. 

“He’s here,” he hissed to Cindy, voice hushed as he pulled her aside next to the tap. At the far end of the bar, Mr. Amicitia glanced at his watch. “W-w-what should I say?”

“Haven’t you been practicin’ all week?” Cocking her head to the side, he favored him with a smile. “He must really be somethin’ to get _ you _ this worked up.”

Prompto made a sound in this throat somewhere between appalled and  _ don’t-say-it-so-loud _ . 

Her response, much to his chagrin, was to grab him by the shoulders and angle him in Mr. Amicitia’s direction. “Well. Most folks start by sayin’ ‘hello,’” she grinned as he gave him a playful shove. 

_ Easier said than done _ . 

Luckily, those deep, honey-gold eyes were locked on the screen of his phone as Prompto drew close, buying him a few extra seconds to suck in a breath and shake out the stiffness in his back. “H-hello again, sir.” 

Mr. Amicitia glanced up, smiled. 

“Coeurl Heart again for you this evening? I memorized the recipe.”

A chuckle, deep and rich and striking a chord in Prompto’s chest. “No thanks, chocobo. I can’t stay tonight. Got a...business thing I have to attend.”

“Oh.” Prompto hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Actually, I was hoping to see you.” (His stomach did a somersault.) “What time do you get off work?”

“Time…?” For some reason, he was finding it difficult to think clearly. “The, uh, bar closes at two. I usually leave around two-thirty, but I don’t see what -- “

“Great.” Mr. Amicitia tucked his phone into his breast pocket as he rose to his feet. He was smiling again, though this time it seemed lighter, more gentle than before. “I’ll be back by then.” 

There was no chance for questions, no chance for Prompto to turn him down before he was turning and heading for the door. It had happened too fast. Stunned speechless, there was nothing Prompto could do but watch him leave - and begin counting down the hours to the end of his shift. 

 

* * *

 

The back door swung shut behind him. Cindy had already taken off - he could still hear the engine of her bike roaring down the block - but the parking lot itself appeared otherwise abandoned.  _ Odd _ , Prompto thought, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Maybe Mr. Amicitia had forgotten about him after all. 

What he had failed to notice upon first stepping out of the  _ Maagho _ was the sleek, black car parked on the opposite side of the street. Its windows were heavily tinted, the driver all but obscured by the glare of the streetlight overhead. The car was purposefully subtle, discreet, so much so that Prompto would have walked right past it if not for the sudden opening of the rear door. 

He whirled around in time to see a tall figure step out of the car. His suit jacket had been removed despite the chill, and the ruby tie around his neck loosened so that the collar of his shirt was left open from the top button. His dark hair, usually pulled back at the nape of his neck, was down now, curling and waving freely over his shoulders and lining the sharp planes of his face.

“ _ Mr. Amicitia. _ “ The name left Prompto’s lips in a breath of surprise. Until that moment, he had only seen the man within the dimly lit confines of the bar - out here, he cut an infinitely more imposing figure.

Mr. Amicitia smiled as he began his approach toward the blond. Who, rooted to the spot, could only stare up at him with wide eyes. Thick arms spread out to either side, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over unexpected muscles. And then Prompto found himself being folded against his chest in an embrace. He smelled of alcohol, with a sweet trace of something else - _ cologne? perfume? _ \- clinging to his clothes. 

“Prom. I’m so glad you waited,” his deep voice spoke from above, rattling Prompto inside and out. 

“S-sir…?”

“I was looking for your car,” Mr. Amicitia continued. He reluctantly released the blond in favor of sweeping a hand around at the rest of the street. “Where did you park? I’ll escort you.” 

Flushing from the roots of his hair to this chest ( _ must be the heat,  _ he told himself;  _ he’s so warm _ ), Prompto shook his head. “I came by bus. After work I usually just walk home, it’s not that far.”

“Walk? In this cold?” Above him, the man looked genuinely surprised. “At least let me give you a ride. I insist.” Already so close, it was easy to lay a heavy arm across the blond’s shoulders, to guide him right up to the open door of the car and inside. 

Several thoughts flashed through Prompto’s mind at once. First, this was definitely the most expensive ride he’d ever been in; leather seats, tailored interior, a pull-out mini-bar where the armrest might have been. There was even a window-like partition between the back seats and the front, tinted like the outside for added privacy. 

Second, he seemed to recall, in the back of his mind, something adults used to tell him when he was a child. Something about  _ not getting into cars with strangers _ . But...Mr. Amicitia wasn’t  _ really _ a stranger...was he? 

Third, he couldn’t help but notice how soft the leather of the seat felt under his touch. Or how the cushions practically molded to his body as he sunk back into them, surrounding him with a supple warmth that he would have been hard pressed to describe to anyone who had never experienced it. While he sighed in luxury, Mr. Amicitia slipped in next to him and closed the door.

“Jared?”

A panel opened in the partition between them and the front of the car, and an elderly gentleman with kind eyes appeared in the frame. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re taking this lovely young man home. Prom? Can you give him directions?”

“Uh, y-yeah! Sure.” Forcing himself up a little straighter in the seat, Prompto did his best to explain the area surrounding his apartment. It didn’t take the driver long to nod his head and smile, and Prompto noticed he was considerate enough to leave the panel  _ open _ as they took off.

Not that it stopped Mr. Amicitia from leaning in close or draping his arm once again around Prompto’s shoulders in the back seat. Inside the warm air of the car, the proximity was almost unbearably hot. 

“So,” he started, and Prompto glanced up quickly to catch his smile. “I heard from my friend Dino that he paid you a visit last week?”

_ Dino? _ The name didn’t ring a bell, but there was only one person he could possibly be talking about. “You mean Mr. Ghiranze? From the Galdin? Y-yeah, um. I met him.” 

“And?” Warm, amber eyes were practically alight with excitement. “What did he say?” 

Prompto swallowed. “He asked to see some of my work, and then he...offered me a slot in his next exhibition. Did you say he’s your friend?”

The look on Mr. Amicitia’s face could have melted icebergs. “Well. Let’s just say he lets me call in favors once in awhile. For the really important things.” 

_...Important? Was he talking about him?  _ The blond felt his chest tighten as he shook his head. “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t accept. I didn’t do anything to earn it. I know you went to a lot of trouble for me,” he added hastily, catching sight of Mr. Amicitia’s crestfallen expression. “But it just...wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry.” 

A silent, uncomfortable pause. Then a sigh. “No. No, I’m the one who should apologize, Prom. I should have asked first. Forgive me?” The question was punctuated with a surprisingly gentle hand laid over his, nearly swallowing up his fingers in his lap. Prompto pushed out the last of his breath. Another block, maybe more, passed while he stared up into those deep eyes, unable - un _ willing _ \- to pull away. It felt...dangerous. Thrilling. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he knew there was no way Mr. Amicitia could have missed it.

“I….”

“Sir? Apologies for the interruption, but I believe we’ve nearly arrived.” 

The car slowed to a crawl. Jared’s face appeared briefly in the partition as he glanced over his shoulder, clearly waiting for further instructions. Swallowing the lump of air in his throat, Prompto tore his gaze from the man beside him to peer instead out of the darkened windows. Sure enough, they’d made it to the main street of his neighborhood; his apartment was only a short walk away. 

“Um. Here is fine.”

“Prom, are you sure?” Next to him, Mr. Amicitia was looking out the window, his face a mask of concern. “Maybe it would be safer if I walked you to your place.”

_ Safer? What exactly was that supposed to mean?  _ Freckled cheeks darkened with the implications. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

“But you don’t have to be.” 

“Seriously, I walk all the time, it’s no big deal.”

“Why don’t you have a car?” 

_ Why don’t...? _ Prompto’s eyes widened, and he struggled to keep the indignation from rising too blatantly in his voice. “Because I can’t afford one? Not all of us are lucky enough to be born rich, you know.”

Clearly taken aback, Mr. Amicitia froze for a single moment _. _

“Take this one then.”

Blue eyes rounded into saucers. “...What…?” 

“This car, it’s yours. If it means protecting you, then it has more value to me in your hands.” For emphasis, he squeezed his fingers where they still lay across Prompto’s in his lap, and smiled. “Will you take it?”

“No!” The single word flew from Prompto’s mouth with more speed and incredulity than he would have believed possible until that moment. “You can’t…! You can’t just give someone a  _ car!  _ You barely know me!”

From the way Mr. Amicitia leaned even closer, it seemed he’s almost been expecting such a response. “But I’d like to. Get to know you,” he clarified when Prompto’s mouth fell open in a silent question. He hadn’t realized his bottom lip was trembling until the flat pad of a thumb swept over it. Mr. Amicitia’s expression shifted into his  _ other  _ smile - the one he’d worn that first night in the bar when he’d asked Prompto to join him in his private room. 

“If you won’t accept my gifts,” he began slowly. “At least promise me one thing.”

The  _ gulp _ Prompto made as he swallowed was the only sound in the space between them.

“When you need a ride, you call me. Anywhere. Anytime.”

“But -- “

“Jared doesn’t mind. Do you, Jared?”

“Not at all, sir.” 

“See.”

“ _ That isn’t -- _ !“ Prompto squeezed his eyes shut. He felt small in that moment, so utterly small and helpless; practically sitting in the lap of this handsome, persistent millionaire who was offering him more than he ever hoped to deserve in his life. It didn’t seem fair, and it didn’t seem  _ real _ . He’d learned long ago that the kindness of strangers never came without a cost, and that no one in the world was content with  _ nothing _ for  _ something _ . 

Mr. Amicitia, like all other wealthy men, was out to gain.

“What is it?” the blond asked in a voice too small to be his own. His eyes fell to the hand in his lap, at once fearful and expectant of the larger man’s answer. “What do you want from me?” 

Amber eyes burned into him. The fingers on his cheek, a moment ago no more than a faint presence, were suddenly hot against his skin. “I want to make you happy.” 

_ Happy. _

Could it really be so simple? His words were honest enough, but there was something else in his voice. A hunger, a desire. A  _ need _ that colored his voice and twisted Prompto’s stomach into knots. 

_ Happy _ . 

It was almost laughable. Prompto’s mouth twitched at the corners as several emotions at once battled for control of his expression. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Mr. Amicitia’s piercing gaze head-on, even as he reached up to clasp that large hand in his own. “Is that all?” he asked, and saw the light flash behind a dark smile. “Are you sure you don’t want  _ this?” _

His gaze never faltered, not even once. Prompto pressed Mr. Amicitia’s palm to the side of his neck, laced their fingers from behind and dragged his hand down, down, over the front of his jacket where the man could no doubt feel every flutter of his heart against his ribcage. Down over his stomach, which rose and fell with each rapid breath; around to the side, under the hem of his shirt and right up against the warmth of his bare skin. 

A sudden intake of breath had Mr. Amicitia’s nostrils flaring. Darkness passed like a shadow over his face - something hungry, something vain - and he tore his gaze from Prompto long enough to shoot a command toward the front of the car. Wordlessly, the partition closed. The sound of Jared unbuckling his seatbelt, opening and then closing his door followed, and Prompto shuddered at the realization that he was alone in the car with this powerful, irresistible man. 

“ _ Prom. _ ” 

“Sir.” 

It hadn’t been a question, not really. Prompto gasped as those fingers squeezed tight around his hip, digging into the flesh and simultaneously pulling him closer. Hot lips found his throat, closed over his skin as the rest of him was pressed back into the seat. Mr. Amicita moved over him. The scent of alcohol and cologne filled his senses, as overwhelming and dizzying as if he himself had been the one drinking, and broad shoulders, too, moved to obstruct his view. But already Prompto’s eyes were fluttering shut. The mouth on his neck was _ fiery hot _ \- so hot it left his skin smouldering in its wake as it traveled down, over the curve of his throat and then back up to the line of his jaw, over and over. 

This was dangerous.  _ Frighteningly dangerous _ . He could feel everything in almost hyperrealism, from the teeth raking over his jugular to the blunt fingers trailing their way toward his lower back. Lifting his hips easily off the leather side to straddle something else instead. A thigh -  _ Mr. Amicitia’s thigh _ \- thick and solid beneath him and  _ oh gods  _ he could feel his own body beginning to react -- 

A growl against his neck as a shiver ran through him. Prompto ground down, more on instinct than intention, and the delicious friction pulled a moan halfway from his throat. It came out first as more of a whine - uncertain, weak - then suddenly built into a ear splitting cry when Mr. Amicitia’s teeth closed down on his neck -  _ hard.  _

“ _ A-ahh!! Fuck!” _

Prompto slapped a hand over his mouth so quickly that it had the older man yanking back in surprise.

“Prom?” Golden eyes swallowed up in black searched his face. 

And he panicked. This was far too much, far too soon. He’d walked right into this, but he’d hardly expected it to be so…so.... 

“I -- Thank you,” Prompto squeaked out, scooting himself backwards across the seat and towards the far door. “For the ride.”

Frozen in place, Mr. Amicitia could only blink his confusion. He neither spoke nor tried to stop him, simply stared ahead with kiss-swollen lips and pupils blown wide as the blond flipped the lock and pushed his way out into the cold night. 

Prompto clutched his jacket tight around him. 

Stumbled only once before he got control of his trembling knees. 

Thanked Jared, who had been leaning against the hood of the car but was now watching him curiously, for the ride, and trudged past before there was a chance for questions. 

Around the corner and into his building, up to the third floor where his apartment waited, cold and lonely as ever. Prompto dropped his bag just inside the door, carelessly shrugging off his boots and his jacket on the way to the shower. 

Where he let the feeling of Mr. Amicitia’s mouth on him wash away under the steaming current, even as his fingers flew over his cock as if possessed.  


	3. The Gentleman Will See You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been days, and Prompto still can't get Mr. Amicitia off his mind. His scent, his taste, the feeling of broad hands on his skin - they haunt him like something out of a perfect, vivid dream. And leave him hungry for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look~! It's Luna! And Iggy! More characters for maximum fun! 
> 
> Oh, and a thirsty blow job ;)

Of all people, Luna was the last one Prompto had expected to make a big deal out of it. 

So when he arrived at the lecture hall just before class, bundled up in an oversized scarf with his camera bag slung over one shoulder, he thought nothing of taking the open seat next to her near the front of the room. 

She smiled at him - her purple lipstick and neon pink bomber jacket a sharp contrast to her suburban-blonde hair - and slid her laptop over to make space for him. “Hey, Prom. I was starting to worry you weren’t going to make it,” she said, pointing to the clock above the podium. “Oversleep again?”

A shrug as Prompto set his camera bag under the chair and settled in. “Sorta. Yeah. Hey, did you finish the landscape series yet? I was kinda busy this weekend and I only got three of the -- “ He paused. Next to him, Luna was hardly listening, her eyes focused instead on the thick scarf around his neck. “What?”

“Busy weekend, huh” she asked, purple lips stretching first into a smirk, and then a full-on grin. “You cold, Prom?

“Yes _. _ ”

“Really?”

“ _ Yes.” _

“What’s under the scarf?”

“ _ My neck!” _

The obvious panic in his voice told her exactly what she needed to know. “How many hickies you got under there?”

“Wh -- ! I -- !”

“Lemme see.” 

“ _ No!” _

But, as usual, Luna was faster, stronger, and more determined. She swatted his hands away easily as she dove forward, plucked the edge of the scarf and yanked down - and nearly gasped at what she saw: faint red marks, some darker than others but all at least a day faded, dotted his neck from throat to jaw on the side that she could see. Evident teeth marks surrounded some of the circles, particularly on the largest one just below his ear. Whoever had made these, they’d been thorough - and incredibly possessive. 

“Wow.”

Luna sat back in her seat, bright blue eyes wide as she stared at her friend. “‘Busy weekend’ is right.”

Blushing red from ear to ear, Prompto quickly tugged the scarf back into place and looked away. “It’s no big deal.” 

“Prom, you didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone.”

“Because I’m not.”

Whatever Luna thought of that answer, she was forced to keep to herself. The bell rang just as their professor, a stocky man with greasy hair who only answered to ‘Grand Master Vyv,’ strode into the hall already talking animatedly. Eyes still fixed on her friend, Luna fell silent, holding back her commentary until the end of class. 

 

* * *

 

“So.”

Prompto groaned. Clearly his attempts to flee the room before Luna could catch him had been in vain, as she had followed him right out to the hall and into the men’s restroom. 

“Does this  _ mystery lover  _ at least have a name?”

“You know you shouldn’t be in here.”

Luna smiled sweetly. “Don’t change the subject. You’re not getting rid of me without the details.” 

Setting his bag on the sink counter, Prompto sighed. “I told you, it’s not like that.” 

“You expect me to believe that  _ you,  _ Prompto ‘I’ll-wait-for-true-love’ Argentum, had a one-night stand with a stranger?”

He whirled around. Luna was leaning against a stall, her eyes fierce and purple lips stretched wide as she watched him. She knew, as he did, that she was going to win this - try as he might, Prompto had never been good at lying. 

“It...wasn’t  _ that _ , either. We didn’t sleep together.” Dropping his gaze, he began to unwind the scarf from around his neck. There was no point in hiding it from her, and anyway he was burning up. “I just...let him kiss me. A little.”

_ A little _ , Luna mouthed, eyes bright with amusement as they traveled once more over the planes of marked flesh. “Okay, so does mystery  _ guy _ have a name? Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know.” Prompto turned to face the mirror, aware of the hollowness of his own voice. “I think I kinda...fucked up? I panicked.”

For the first time, Luna’s smirk faltered, and she stepped closer to put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Do you  _ want  _ to see him again?”

That was a more difficult question to answer. Prompto lifted his gaze, took in the sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. To the sight of his unruly yellow hair, the circles under his eyes, the metal jutting from his ears. Down to the marks covering his throat, and he recalled the feeling of the mouth that had put them there. Feverishly hot lips, the scratch of Mr. Amicitia’s beard on his skin, the sharp pinch of teeth that had sent his blood rushing instantly south. He also recalled the amber color of his eyes, and the deep, thrumming tone of his voice when he spoke. 

_ I want to make you happy.  _

Whether Prompto was fully ready to admit it aloud or not, he couldn’t hide the truth from himself. He’d fallen for this rich, handsome, intoxicating man, and letting things end as they had wasn’t an option. 

His gaze met Luna’s reflection in the mirror, and he nodded. “I do.” 

“Well, then,” she smiled. “That’s all that matters.” 

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so  _ how _ rich and  _ how  _ famous are we talking?” 

Luna eyed him skeptically over the rim of her latte. She’d at least had the sense to suggest moving their conversation from the men’s toilet to the campus coffee shop, but her curiosity had yet to quell. Prompto, his own coffee untouched, could only groan internally as he fielded one question after another. 

“Uhm. _ Extremely _ to the first, and  _ very _ to the second.” 

“And you said he was older? What, like, a couple years?”

A shrug. “I dunno, maybe...ten? Fifteen? I haven’t exactly asked.” 

Across the table, Luna took another long, thoughtful sip. “Does Noct know him?”

Sharp as ever, she was already putting together the pieces must faster than Prompto had. He thought back to the night he’d talked to his best friend on the phone, and how the second Mr. Amicitia’s name dropped Noctis had gone dead silent. He should have known, of course, that the rumors about Gladiolus’ father and President Caelum were true; and that any friend of Regis would also be an acquaintance of Noct, along with the rest of his family. Turns out the two had met years ago at a Citadel function, and Noct mostly remembered him as being loud, friendly, and really, really drunk.

“Uh, yeah. Actually, he does know him. Not well, but -- “

“Not as well as  _ you,  _ you mean?” Purple lips stretched in a grin and Prompto felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Anyway, he sounds like a dreamboat. I think you should call him.”

“W-what, like, right now?” He glanced nervously around at the students bustling in and out of the coffee shop. “Too risky. Besides, I don’t even have his number.”

Luna, as usual, didn’t miss a beat. “But you know where he works, right?”

_ Boom _ . The sound of his jaw dropping to the floor.

_ Boom _ . His heart, pounding against his ribs as he scrolled the Shield Institute staff list on his phone.

_ Boom _ . His fingers hitting the screen, dialing out the number digit by digit. 

The line rang. Across from him, Luna offered two thumbs up in support. Prompto considered, for a brief second, tossing her the phone instead, bolting from his chair before anyone could actually pick up on the other end - but by the time he made up his mind to do so, it was too late. A male voice, lilting with a Tenebraen accent, pulled him suddenly back to the moment. “ _ Shield Institute, Communications Department. What can I do for you?” _

Prompto froze. His mouth opened, but nothing more came out than a nervous huff of air as his eyes went wide.  _ This was a mistake, this was a mistake, this was --  _

“ _ Psst!” _ He glanced up at Luna, who was waving her hands and smiling.  _ Say hello! _ she mouthed in advice, and the pressure of the moment temporarily lifted. 

“Um. Hello,” he repeated into the phone, and flashed her a grin. “I’m calling for Mr. Amicitia.”   

At once, Luna’s eyes widened to saucers, and the voice on the phone scoffed. “ _ Which one, sir? _ ”

“Oh. Uh, Gladiolus.” More gawking from across the table, mirroring the receptionist’s own disbelieving tone.

“ _ Is Mr. Amicitia expecting your call?” _

“N-no, he isn’t. Um, I’m...calling from the  _ Maagho _ . It’s about his...reservation. Tomor - no, tonight. Very important, I need to speak to him right away.”  __

There was a pause. Prompto worried that the lie - he himself wasn’t sure where it had come from so quickly - would be too transparent, that the man on the phone would see right through him and take away his only shot at this. But thankfully, after a heavy sigh, the voice continued. 

“ _ Mr. Amicitia isn’t at his desk at the moment. If you’d like to leave your name, I can -- “ _

“Prompto. Prompto Argentum. Thank you!”

He hung up without waiting for a reply, too distracted by the way Luna was practically clamoring into his lap to get the juicy details.

 

* * *

 

Gladio was good at multitasking. 

Or, at least, he was good at  _ appearing _ busy even when he actually wasn’t. Like now, walking down the hall of the office with quick, purposeful strides, a half-wrapped sandwich in one hand and a clipboard someone had shoved into the other. He chewed fast, too - nothing at Shield was ever done leisurely - and made a show of skimming over the cover of whatever report he held.  _ Budget, quarterlies, request, immediate - _ it was always the same. 

Focused more on the pickle he was savoring in his mouth, he finally reached the door of his own private office and deposited the clipboard on the front desk. “Approve this for me, would ya, Iggy?”

A sigh, expected but largely ignored. “Sir. Did you even read it this time?

“Of course I did. ‘Money, money, money,’ something like that, right?” 

“ _ Honestly _ .”

Clapping his assistant on the shoulder, he turned past the desk. “Let me know if anything exciting happens, okay?”

“ _ Yes _ , sir. Oh.” Steel green eyes flashed behind sharp lenses. “You received a phone call earlier. Regarding some...reservations tonight that I was not aware of?” 

Gladio came to a halt with his fingers hovering above the handle of the door. “Where?”

“At the  _ Maagho _ , according to the young man on the phone.” Ignis smirked to see he had his boss’ undivided attention now. “He gave his name as -- “

“Prompto. Did he leave a number?”

 

* * *

 

“Oh, gods.  _ Oh, gods,  _ it’s him!”

“Answer it, hurry!”

“I-I’m trying! Um. Hello?”

“ _ Prom?” _

“Y-yes.”

“ _ It’s me. Gladio.” _

“I… Yeah. Hi.”

_ “Ignis told me you called. It’s so good to hear your voice.” _

Prompto’s throat went dry despite the coffee he’d just downed. “You, too, sir.”

_ “I miss you. Listen, about the other night -- “ _

“I want to see you.”

_ “I -- Really? You do?” _

“Yeah. Y-yes. Right now.”

_ “Okay. Great. I’ll send Jared over. Where are you?” _

“The Ebony Bean? The one at the university.” 

_ “You got it, chocobo.” _

No sooner had he hung up than Luna was hugging him, practically sloshing her coffee in her excitement at the job well done. 

 

* * *

 

Shield Institute was about as intimidating and impressive a building as he might have imagined. 

Jared bowed his head, holding the door graciously to allow Prompto to step out onto the sidewalk. He dismissed himself with a chipper  _ very-good-to-see-you-again-sir _ , and was driving off again before the blond had even worked up the nerve to go inside. 

Part of him expected Mr. Amicitia to come striding down the front steps to greet him. When that didn’t happen, he expected instead to be stopped at the front doors, for security to take one look at his faded jeans with holes in the knees, his mismatched sneaker laces and the gauges in his ears, and throw him back out on the street where he belonged. 

But that didn’t happen, either. Prompto walked inside the massive corporate building without earning so much as a suspicious glance, found a map on one of the pillars near the entrance, and started his trek up to the forty-second floor with relative ease. Which mostly involved trying not to think about how high up he was moving as the numbers on the elevator climbed. 

A kind woman carrying a stack of files pointed him in the direction of Mr. Amicitia’s office. A sign on the wall several turns later confirmed he was going the right way. And eventually, perhaps by some miracle of the gods, he arrived at last in front of the door of the man he wanted to see. But first….

“Excuse me?” 

A pair of glasses turned up to him in decided disinterest. “Yes?”

“I’m here to, uh, see Mr. Amicitia? I’m Prompto?” 

Cool, emerald-green eyes focused in on him. The man behind the desk arched a well-trimmed eyebrow, reached forward, and casually pressed the button of an intercom. “Sir. I believe the young man who phoned about your  _ reservation _ is here.”

There was no response on the intercom. Prompto waited for a tense moment, unable to shake that steel-like gaze, until at last the man waved his hand in the direction of the office door. “He’ll see you now,” came his lilting voice, in a tone that was half amusement, half  _ hurry-up-and-get-out-of-my-sight _ . Prom nodded quickly and bolted past the desk. 

The door was unlocked. It led into a room that felt easily as large as his own apartment, with paneled windows from floor to ceiling along the far wall. The carpet and decor was all of a slate grey, save for the desk in the center of the room made of a stylish, polished black. Behind that, a tall, leather office chair of the same color, and in it sat Mr. Amicitia.

He looked... _ different _ , was the first word that came to Prompto’s mind. He wore a suit much like the last two times they had met, but this time the jacket was properly buttoned over his broad chest. His hair, as dark brown as his beard and long enough to reach his shoulders, Prompto knew, was pulled back into a knot and slicked back at the sides. Altogether, he looked clean, smooth, professional. 

Breathtakingly handsome. 

He got to his feet and smiled. “Prom. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for, uh, sending the car.” A smile tugged at the corners of the blond’s mouth as well, uncertain and shy as he took a few tentative steps into the office. "I guess it came in handy after all."

Chuckling, Mr. Amicitia rounded the corner of the desk and leaned into it with his hip, legs crossing casually beneath him. Well, perhaps not  _ entirely  _ without purpose - Prompto's eyes were drawn instantly to the juncture, where the folds of grey fabric only served to accentuate his obvious endowment. 

_ That _ was something Prompto had failed to notice before. 

"When you said you wanted to see me," Mr. Amicitia began, "Well, to be honest, I was relieved. After the other night, I thought I’d crossed a line.  _ Several  _ lines, actually."

It was a struggle to keep his gaze focused at eye-level, but somehow Prom managed. He smiled again as he began to unwrap the scarf from around his neck, bearing the marks left behind on his skin by the mouth of the very man before him. "You mean these? Actually, they've kinda…grown on me. My friend said they looked nice."

Something flashed across Mr. Amicitia’s face - understanding, recognition of the offer laid before him. Without moving from his position against the desk, he beckoned Prompto closer with nothing but his eyes. The tension that had pulsed between them since the blond had entered the room snapped, and the energy of the release had Prompto practically flying into his arms. 

Mr. Amicitia was taller by a head at least, but he bent forward just as the younger man reached him. Prompto bounced up onto his toes to close the distance, and as their lips crushed together he let go of the very last of his  _ unknowns _ . It felt right, to be held like this again. It felt good to have Mr. Amicitia’s tongue sliding into his mouth, confident and bold. It awakened something in him he'd never quite felt before - an excitement, a sense of desire that ignited like a spark in his blood. 

A desire to be  _ wanted _ . 

" _ Prom, _ " that deep voice rumbled around and through him, vibrating against his lips. Pale fingers twisted in the front of grey wool, and Prompto rushed forward to chase the other’s mouth with his own. He couldn’t -  _ wouldn’t _ \- let this go, not this time. 

The kiss deepened. Prompto moaned, unbidden, around the tongue sliding over his teeth; opened wider to accommodate even as he sensed Mr. Amicitia’s hand move to grasp the back of his neck. Fingers brushed like feathers over trembling skin, then pulled him in close, held him in place while he all but devoured his mouth. And Prompto  _ wanted  _ it, begged for it with the rest of his body pressed tight to that broad chest. Craved more,  _ more,  _ even as his lungs burned and his head began to spin with the power of it. 

It was Mr. Amicitia who pulled away first. His strong hands continued to hold Prompto upright, but his eyes were lidded as he drew his tongue back at last. The blond shivered in his arms, tried once more to close the distance, but he held him fast with a smile and a finger to his lips.

“Prom,” he said again, and opened his eyes to stare directly into feverish blue. “I don’t know how to control myself around you.” 

_ So don’t.  _

Had Prompto had the ability in that moment to voice his thoughts, he might have said as much. But his throat was dry with need, and the finger pressed to his mouth was a distracting weight. Instead of words, then, he would have to find another way to make himself heard. With a shy smile and a swipe of his tongue out over his lips, he drew Mr. Amicitia’s finger into his mouth and slide purposefully down the length. 

Contrary to what Luna  _ thought  _ Prompto’s experience - or lack thereof - amounted to, he wasn’t quite as innocent as he’d always let on. He, like any healthy, growing, teenager, had done his fair share of fooling around in high school (although in his case, it had been almost exclusively with his best friend). Noct had once joked that his mouth seemed to be made for talking and sucking dick, and now where the first failed him he hoped the second would be enough to make due. 

He swirled his tongue around the tip of the thick finger sliding between his lips, down along the side and back up in slow, thorough strokes. If the dark look he received in response was any clue, it seemed to be having the desired effect. Prompto kept his eyes focused on Mr. Amicitia as a second finger pressed to his lips, begging entrance, and obediently opened for him. He felt as much as he saw the taller man shudder, his breath coming in hard, shallow bursts now in his focus, entranced as he was with the feel of that soft, pink tongue rolling over his flesh. 

The hesitation lasted only a moment longer. Prompto hummed at the tell-tale clinking of Mr. Amicitia’s belt buckle, followed quickly by his zipper and a rustling of cloth. While he couldn’t see what the man was doing, he could certainly feel the heat of his cock being released into the space between them, and couldn’t resist reaching down to touch it for himself. 

Large. Thick.  _ Hot _ . If the sheer size of it wasn’t enough to take Prompto by surprise, the unexpected flash of cool metal certainly was. Eyes widening, he stroked his thumb again over the ball of the stud, shivered in response to the groan it pulled from Mr. Amicitia’s throat. And at last he forced his eyes away from that hungry gaze to take in the sight below instead. 

Dark, throbbing flesh, admirably hard between his fingers and already slick at the tip in his excitement, Mr. Amicitia’s cock was a work of art on its own accord. But the piercings - and there were, Prompto noted quickly, more than just the one - turned him into a masterpiece. Silver glinted in the light of the open windows from the head down, a line of parallel bars along the underside that followed the curve of the organ, right down to a hoop through the base that hung heavy against his balls. That one in particular caught the blond’s attention, seeming to beg him to take a closer look, and he released the fingers in his mouth in favor of dropping to his knees right in the middle of the room. 

Wordlessly, he savored the sight. Slick fingers carding back through his hair gave him all he permission he needed before leaning forward and pressing his tongue to the first bar. Prompto barely heard the appreciative sounds that began to tumble down around him - his own heart was pounding too fast, his blood rushing too hard in his ears as he dragged his mouth up the impressive length. The metal was in every way a delicious contrast to the taste of Mr. Amicitia himself - cold where his flesh was burning hot, unyielding where he was pliant, hard where he was smooth. Prompto swirled his tongue eagerly up and down the length of the bars, taking the time to let his teeth catch against the silver balls and tug  _ just so _ . On each pass, Mr. Amicitia’s cock gave a twitch that let Prom know they were both enjoying this. 

While he worked, at last taking Mr. Amicitia’s full girth into his mouth and working his way inch by inch down the length, he vaguely heard the crackle of a speaker from somewhere above. A sharp question, followed by a deep, almost steady reply. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to...clear my schedule.”

“ _...As in, ‘for the rest of the afternoon’ or…?” _

“I’ll let you know.” 

The sound of a switch being flipped, then those thick fingers were back, kneaded through his hair and brushing purposefully over the metal lining Prompto’s own ears  “ _ Gods,  _ baby, you are good at that.”

The praise was met with a soft moan, one which bubbled up from Prom’s throat and vibrated through the heated flesh in his mouth. Blue eyes fluttered open briefly in a plea - needy, longing - and the fingers in his hair tightened their grip. Mr. Amicitia’s growl matched Prompto’s enthusiasm as he began to roll his hips up to meet him, filling that willing mouth deeper and deeper with each thrust.

Prompto’s fingers found purchase in the smooth fabric of Mr. Amicitia’s suit. He clung to him as if his every other grip on reality had been lost, moaned around the taste of sex and metal, too overwhelmed by the unimaginably intoxicating mix. Against the flat of his tongue, he could feel the bumps of the piercings rolling, sliding, a sensation more erotic than he could have ever dreamed. And as that hot length forced its way further toward the back of his throat, Prompto even began to feel the metal of the hoop at the base smacking into his chin. It was enough to send his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“ _ M-mmmf!” _

“Prom,  _ gods _ \-- So good, just like that.”

“ _ Mmn…! Mm!” _

The fingers in his hair tightened almost painfully. Even through the pounding of blood in his ears like the pulse of a drum,. Prompto could hear the tension in Mr. Amicitia’s voice, could sense the need straining there.  _ A little more _ , he thought;  _ He’s so close. Just one more push.  _ On instinct as much as out of curiosity, Prompto released one trembling hand from the tangle of those grey slacks in favor of hooking a single finger through the hoop at the base of his cock. He gave it an experimental tug, felt the thick vein against his tongue throb wildly, encouraging him to pull again. 

Mr. Amicitia’s low, powerful growl was the only warning. Suddenly Prompto’s mouth was filled with the hot burst of his sex, spilling over his tongue and running hard and fast down his throat. The blond coughed, his eyes flying wide in surprise, but still he tightened his lips around the pulsing flesh and did his best to swallow down what he could. 

The rest pooled in his mouth, dribbled out of the corners and down his chin when Mr. Amicitia eventually drew out of him. Prompto rocked back on his heels. Just as he finished sucking a mouthful of air into his burning lungs, a hand on his upper arm was dragging him once more to his feet and he found himself surrounded in a sudden embrace. 

“ _ Prompto _ .” 

He never had a chance to respond. Before he could even cry out, he was being lifted bodily off the ground, spun in the air until the backs of his calves hit the edge of the desk, and then he was sat down onto the surface of it. Mr. Amicitia kissed him roughly, all teeth and tongue pushing past the taste of himself lingering there, while his fingers made quick work of the front of the blond’s jeans. 

Swallowing his desperate moans, Mr. Amicitia brought him to climax easily on top of the desk that was worth more than he made in a year. 

 

* * *

 

"I want you to join me for a dinner this weekend."  

Prompto looked up from where he was readjusting his pants, and blinked. "Dinner? What kind of dinner?"

"A year-end company kinda deal. Nothing too fancy." (A difficult sentiment to accept coming from a man who thought nothing of offering a car to his not-quite-date.) "If you're working Friday, I can talk to Weskham myself. I promise it won't be an issue."

His job at the bar didn't concern him as much as the prospect of attending a social business function. After all, he was hardly presentable enough for the  _ Maagho _ , how did Mr. Amicitia expect show him off to a crowd of Insomnia’s elite? "I, um. Don't have anything to wear."

"No problem," came that easy smile, and Mr. Amicitia closed the distance between them again. He curled his fingers around a rogue lock of blond hair against Prompto’s cheek as he continued. "Let me take care you. Just promise me you'll come?" 

A soft nod. Despite his own misgivings, he already knew in his heart that he could deny this man nothing. Prompto blushed as he was kissed again, this time warmer, nearly chaste except for the nip of teeth on his bottom lip as Mr. Amicitia pulled away. Then, "I'll pick you up at six. Thank you again for today."

Another blush, another nod. He turned and strode out of the office as if in a dream, somehow convinced he  _ couldn't possibly have just blown one of the most powerful men in the city  _ despite the taste that lingered on his tongue. 

He was still lost in thought when the stepped into the hall. Nearly walked right past the front desk without even seeing it until a lilting voice called out to him, "Enjoy your  _ appointment? _ "

Steel-green eyes watched him in half-veiled amusement. The man who Mr. Amicitia had called ‘Ignis' smirked - Prompto couldn't tell if it was friendly or not - and casually adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Did you get those reservations sorted?"

The way Prompto’s tongue darted out over his lips was  _ mostly  _ involuntary. "Y-yeah. Yeah, we did."


End file.
